A Silent Night's Impact

(Reflecting on the Loss of a Local Bee Colony)

Sunday morning a bee colony swarmed quietly into our community and settled near the roof on the back of a building at the community pool.   Many hundreds of bees clustering peacefully in one large clump around their queen.  

Having lived in the Valley – Phoenix area – in the desert southwest most of my life, I’ve seen this activity many times before.  The queen is the heart of the hive.  She emits pheromones that keep the colony organized, calm, and aligned in purpose.  The bees cluster around her to guard her, regulating her temperature and staying connected to her guidance.  The colony raises a new queen in the Spring.  The old queen leaves with about half the workers to form a new colony.  They cluster around her protectively in a “bee ball”, often hanging from a tree branch or sheltered surface while scouts search for a new home.  It is likely that we were seeing this pre-swarm cluster. 

Sunday night at 10 p.m., the bees appeared strong, healthy, clustered around their queen.

By sunrise, most were dead and the remainder dying.

A neighbor was the first to notice—the cluster near their home that should’ve been buzzing with early light was nearly silent. Beneath the minimal cluster lay a mound of lifeless bees, and nearby, hundreds more struggled to survive, their movements slow and uncoordinated.

Among the rocks and fallen bodies, I noticed a sticky residue coating the ground and the bees who perished first. A sign, I believe, that poison had been sprayed. This was no natural decline. It was a sudden, stealthy act—done under the cover of night.

This colony was just passing through. It posed no harm. And the individual(s) who took this action did so without right or permission. Whether driven by fear, misunderstanding, or disregard, the result is the same: a vibrant pollinator community silenced in a matter of hours.

Why does this matter?

Because bees are not just honey-makers. They are essential pollinators—responsible for one in every three bites of food we eat. They sustain ecosystems, crops, wildflowers, and life itself.

Bee populations are declining. More urgently, many native bee species—like those native to the desert southwest (Suckley’s Cuckoo Bumble Bee, Mojave Poppy Bee, and Southwest Spring Firefly)—are endangered or threatened. Every loss matters. Every hive counts.

And every human choice impacts the web of life.

This story doesn’t have to end with sorrow. It can begin a new chapter—one of awareness, action, and community care.

We can help protect the bees:

• Avoid pesticides and herbicides, especially systemic ones like neonicotinoids. Even “natural” sprays can be deadly to pollinators.
• Plant bee-friendly flowers—especially native varieties that provide safe nectar sources.
• Offer clean water in shallow dishes with stones or pebbles for safe landing.
• Share what you know—gently, compassionately—with friends, neighbors, and your community.
• Support local, organic farms and conscious beekeepers.

This was one colony. But it speaks to something greater.
To our need to slow down. To notice. To ask before acting.
To recognize that we are not separate from nature—we are participants in it.

To the bees who gave their all in silent service:
Thank you.
Your lives mattered.
Your loss will not be in vain.

May your still wings stir awake something vital in us all.